


don't let go

by inexhaustible



Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: First Dates, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9369620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexhaustible/pseuds/inexhaustible
Summary: somehow, against all odds, this is going to work.





	

**Author's Note:**

> as always, kudos or comments are deeply appreciated!  
> find me on tumblr @tsukujin, where you can shoot me requests!

Kaoru’s not nervous. He doesn’t get  _ nervous.  _ He’s good at swallowing down his nerves, great at facing his fears head on.

Fortunately, Kaoru’s also great at lying to himself.

He tugs self-consciously at his shirt sleeves, crisp fabric rubbing against his fingers as he stares at his darkened reflection in the glass paneling of the door. The dress shirt fits tight across his chest, hugging his arms, and Kaoru feels horribly out of place, glancing at the polished leather glistening at his feet. Kaoru raises a hand to knock, before drawing back, glancing around for a doorbell, swiping a hand over his face.

_ God, what am I doing?  _

He swallows, pacing around back and forth a few times before gathering his courage, raising a hand to press the doorbell. Before his fingers reach the button, the door swings open, and Kaoru’s mouth goes dry, eyes widening.

“Hey,” Mizuki says, and gives Kaoru an amused look. Kaoru’s staring, but he can’t tear his eyes away from his irritatingly attractive boyfriend who’s leaning against the doorframe in a spotless black shirt, blue cardigan draped over his shoulder like some kind of model. “Are you going to come in, or are you just going to keep standing outside and glaring at my door?” 

Mizuki’s tone is flippant, but his faint blush betrays him, and Kaoru smiles, wide. His stomach is buzzing with excitement and anxiety in equal measure, and he shifts his weight around on his heels before speaking.

“It’s almost time, anyways, right? You ready to go?” Mizuki tips his head questioningly before shrugging, turning back and shuffling into his shoes before stepping out, bumping his shoulder companionably against Kaoru’s. 

“Stop staring,” Mizuki says, and Kaoru flushes red before following, falling in beside him. Their steps echo in unison down the road, and Kaoru glances down at where their hands swing side by side, close enough to touch. It’s an empty street, and maybe –

“You’re ridiculous,” Mizuki mutters, before loosely threading his fingers through Kaoru’s, giving his hand a light squeeze. “There’s nothing to be nervous about, idiot.”

“I’m not nervous,” Kaoru says, too quickly, and Mizuki shoots him an unimpressed look. “You – you just look good. Really good.” It’s not like him to be flustered, but his tongue is tying itself into knots, and Kaoru’s tripping over his words.  _ Now, of all times?  _ Mizuki huffs out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Thanks, I think.” Mizuki turns, eyes sweeping over Kaoru. He pauses, stepping in front of Kaoru and reaching up to straighten his collar, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“You look good too,” he says, before he turns back around, nonchalant. Kaoru stands there, frozen, until Mizuki speaks up again.

“Are you coming?” 

Kaoru hurriedly treads after him. When he catches up, Mizuki’s lips are quirked upward, and Kaoru’s – well, he’s a little bit in love, maybe. 

He reaches over and links their hands together again, just because he can.

* * *

(Kaoru’s really not sure what he expected when he’d sent out that text, hands shaky, phone screen illuminating his room with pale light. He’d been  _ tired _ – there’d been a prelim match, and he’d watched Seiseki compete, even when the game went into overtime and the sun lay heavy across the horizon. Mizuki had been the star of the show, executing his signature bicycle kick to score the deciding point.

It’s their third year in high school. Next year, they’re going to graduate and go pro, and he might never see Mizuki again. Maybe that’s why he does it. 

He’s carried a torch for Mizuki for years, ever since he’d seen that lanky first year stumble onto the field, all determination and self-assured smiles even as he missed his passes and struggled to keep up. Something about him had worked its way under Kaoru’s skin, and he’d kept his eye on Mizuki ever since then.

Kaoru doesn’t doubt that Mizuki, now, is the better player. 

Maybe it’s that – all those years of watching and waiting, all those years of trying to get his attention. Maybe that’s why he does it. 

Maybe he does it because Kaoru’s never been good at holding back his impulses, not when Mizuki’s phone number is blinking on his screen, not when it’s 1 AM and they’ve been texting back and forth for hours and Kaoru’s chest is so full of wanting that he feels as if his chest has been emptied of all else: he feels as if it’d rattle about inside of him, that emptiness, his ribs filled with nothing but thoughts of Mizuki and the way his face would feel under Kaoru’s fingers. He’d been resigned to it. 

He’d tapped out his message knowing that he’d be rejected, expecting disgust, repulsion, hatred. Kaoru had stared at the replying bubble with increasing trepidation, watching the dots tick out a steady rhythm against his pulse, taunting him.

“you could have said something earlier,” Mizuki finally texts back, and everything in Kaoru’s world comes apart, just a bit.)

* * *

They reach the theater with half an hour to spare before the movie starts, and Mizuki drags Kaoru over to the snack line.

“It’s not a movie unless you have popcorn,” Mizuki insists, firmly, and Kaoru wants to laugh.  _ He’s such a child sometimes. _

Kaoru takes a step away from Mizuki, stifling the urge to slide closer and snake an arm around his waist, glancing at the cashier. He’s distracted, scooping popcorn into a garishly striped box, and Kaoru presses Mizuki’s arm lightly before disengaging, waiting for him at the exit of the checkout line. Mizuki looks over at him, brow furrowed, but he relaxes when Kaoru gestures with a tip of his head at the forming line behind him. 

_ That’s right, huh. If we do this, we can’t be public about it. _ It makes something in his blood boil, fierce and possessive, but Kaoru’s not stupid. He’ll bide his time – hell, he’d be willing to hide this for the rest of his life, if he could only have Mizuki. It’s unfair: he wants to be proud of this, wants to hold hands with Mizuki in public like he’d done with all his ex-girlfriends, wants to be able to show the world. 

But they’re just two guys in a suburb of Tokyo, and it’s not the time for that, not yet. So Kaoru stuffs his hands in his pockets, leans against the shaky metal railing behind him, and waits. Mizuki walks over to him, box of popcorn in hand. Mizuki puts a handful of popcorn in his mouth, snack making a satisfying  _ crunch _ , and Kaoru smiles, because he knows they’re both thinking the same thing. 

* * *

(They meet up after their next matches late into the evening, a stillness in the air that Kaoru feels spark electric under his heels, in his calves. It makes him want to run for miles, but he forces himself to stand his ground.

“You like me,” Mizuki says, thoughtfully. There’s no accusation in it, and Kaoru looks at him, meeting Mizuki’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he replies, because what else can he say? “You never noticed.”

“Yeah. I didn’t,” Mizuki says, stepping closer.  _ Always so direct. _ “How long?”

Kaoru makes a noncommittal sound, running a hand through his hair. Mizuki reaches out, grabbing his wrist, grip tight. 

“How long?” Mizuki repeats, softly. The atmosphere is too serious, and it makes Kaoru’s stomach turn. Mizuki’s staring at him with a kind of quiet intensity he’s only seen on the pitch, and – he’s not sure how to react at that, doesn’t know how to act when everything he’s wanted is so close.

“Since we were first years,” Kaoru mutters, finally, voice strained. Mizuki makes a frustrated noise, dropping his arm and pushing him back. 

“I always knew you were a dumbass,” Mizuki sighs, “but I didn’t know you were capable of  _ this. _ ” Kaoru’s hands stutter by his sides, fingers clenching at the hem of his shirt, because he is  _ terrified _ of this, terrified of being rejected. He’s had years to come to terms with it, and it’s still not an option. 

It’s losing. Kaoru doesn’t lose.

So he forces himself to walk forward, drawing strength from the fact that Mizuki doesn’t waver, staring at Kaoru with that same unreadable intensity. Kaoru raises an hand, hesitantly, telegraphing his movements, and Mizuki only waits, raising an eyebrow as if in a challenge.

Kaoru’s not even sure what to do, as if all the fantasies and daydreams he’s had of this moment have decided to conveniently fade away, the way he’s wanted them to for the past three years. Even so, he knows they wouldn’t be any help here. It’s different, having Mizuki in the flesh in front of him, having him so close and so  _ real _ . 

Kaoru raises a hand to Mizuki’s cheek, letting his thumb trail under Mizuki’s eye, fingers splaying out across his cheekbone, and Mizuki breathes out a sigh, lets his eyes close as if he’s wanted this too, and it makes something burn slow through Kaoru’s chest, makes him headstrong and careless.

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Mizuki’s lips, and Mizuki returns it, chasing Kaoru’s lips and pressing warm kisses to the underside of Kaoru’s jaw, his cheek. 

“I didn’t think you –” Kaoru starts, and Mizuki leans against his neck, breath flooding out in a weary sigh.

“I didn’t,” Mizuki says, and Kaoru freezes, not sure what to make of that. “But I could. I do, I don’t know. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since you sent that text. I didn’t  _ know _ ,” he says, pulling away to look at Kaoru with a strange fire in his eyes. 

“I didn’t know,” Mizuki repeats, looking away. He seems to struggle for words, and Kaoru waits, heart in his throat. “But I want to try this, I guess.”

“I guess?” Kaoru echoes, confusion clear in his voice.  _ Is he playing with me? _ “I don’t – I  _ like _ you, Mizuki.”

“I know,” Mizuki says, clipped. He makes a face, turning away. “Ugh, why is this so hard?”

“I just don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” Kaoru says, and tries not to wince at the way he sounds desperate, pleading. He’s all pride and anger and sharp edges in most situations, but when it comes to Mizuki it always falls flat, forces him to drop his ego and say things like this, forces him to be halfway to begging, and he hates it.

Mizuki turns back to him, and Kaoru forces himself to meet his eyes, seeing his fear and confusion mirrored in Mizuki’s face.

“Date me,” Mizuki says, finally, and Kaoru blinks in surprise, deadly still. “You like me. It shouldn’t be this complicated.”

Kaoru wants to laugh, because it’s such a  _ Mizuki _ thing to say. He tips his head up into the air, lets the cold night air blow through his hair, feels the wind rush pash his ears.

“Okay,” he says. Kaoru wants to ask, he really does – and he’s never been good at resisting what he wants, so despite how much he bites down on his lip and grits his teeth, he blurts it out regardless.

“But I like you,” Kaoru says, “And I need to know, Mizuki. Do you like me?” He sounds pathetic. He can’t meet Mizuki’s eyes this time, and Kaoru hates himself for it.  _ Was I always this much of a coward?  _ There’s a beat of silence, and Mizuki walks closer to him, putting a hand on Kaoru’s neck. His pulse is racing, and he’s almost sure that Mizuki can feel it.

“Yeah,” Mizuki says, and Kaoru’s ridiculously glad that he doesn’t say “I don’t know,” or “I could.”  _ He’s finally found the right time to be straightforward. Idiot.  _ Mizuki trails his hand up to Kaoru’s jaw, forcing Kaoru to look at him. “I do.”

Mizuki closes the distance between them, and Kaoru’s breathing stops, stuttering to a stop in his lungs. When Mizuki pulls back, Kaoru can’t help the smile that breaks out on his face, growing when Mizuki finally cracks a small smile in return.)

* * *

They enter the theater to find the seats relatively empty, with plenty of room in all sections. Kaoru’s about to suggest that they grab a prime spot in the center of the theater, but Mizuki glances at him before marching resolutely up the steps. Kaoru trails after him, watching him quizzically as Mizuki takes a seat in the top row.

Mizuki gestures at the seat next to him, and Kaoru follows, hesitantly. When he sits down, Mizuki reaches over and clasps their hands together, and Kaoru flushes, suddenly understanding. 

“You didn’t want people to see, back there,” Mizuki says.

“Yeah.”  _ It would have been weird, _ he wants to say, but finds that something stops him. 

“I’m sorry,” Mizuki says, and Kaoru shakes his head, squeezing his hand. 

“It’s not your fault.” Kaoru pauses, thinking. “Do you think it’s weird? This?”

“What,” Mizuki asks, “How we’re both guys?”

Kaoru shrugs, lost for words. “Yeah. What other people will say.”

Mizuki looks at him, and Kaoru feels as if he’s being scrutinized, picked apart. 

“Do you care?” Mizuki asks, and Kaoru brings Mizuki’s hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his palm and trying to ignore how sappy it feels. 

“Not enough.”  _ If I can do this, then it’s – it’s fine.  _ “But don’t you?”

“That’s your problem,” Mizuki grumbles. “You always assume what I feel.”

Mizuki leans over, taking advantage of the darkness of the theater, pressing an insistent kiss to Kaoru’s lips. He licks into it, parting Kaoru’s lips with his tongue, and Kaoru shivers, pressing back heatedly.  _ Where did he learn to do that? _

Mizuki pulls back, smug. 

“I don’t care what other people think. I like you,” Mizuki says, against Kaoru’s lips, and it makes a flash of heat run liquid through Kaoru’s veins. Mizuki leans back against his chair, disengaging as the lights dim further. 

“Movie’s starting,” Mizuki says, and Kaoru snorts, tipping his head over to rest on Mizuki’s shoulder. Mizuki allows it, sending him a begrudgingly fond look, and Kaoru wants to smile, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself, because it hits him. 

Mizuki’s his  _ boyfriend _ , now, and he feels like a grade school girl. They’re on a date, and they’re dating, and – he’s happy. 

Mizuki must have noticed something, because he gives Kaoru a questioning look, turning to brush a kiss to Kaoru’s temple. 

“Shut up,” Mizuki murmurs, even though Kaoru hasn’t said anything. “And watch the movie, you ingrate. I paid for your ticket, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaoru says, as the opening credits roll. “I’m watching.”


End file.
